I started an accidental business???

It’s very public knowledge that I pet sit, I think? I consider it a hobby. It’s so fun meeting dogs rather than people!

This all started when I was in uni because I so desperately wanted a dog/to hang out with dogs and I came across a website that allowed me to do that and get paid??? DA FUQ??? That was a Codii dream come true.

I think I really came to the scene very early on in the websites stages. This explains a bit later on actually!

Anyway, I signed up and I set my prices really damn low to attract the doggo’s because I just wanted to hang out with doggos all day. This really worked and it got me the fucking worst clients ever. I had this dog that would constantly dig holes and escape (I kind of refuse to pet sit staffies now fuck people who say they are ultra cute and good, NO -NIGHTMARES).Β  I had some lady who was a legit fucking hoarder! I’ve never been in a worse house in my life. It was truly what nightmares were made of and I thought it was gonna be a hoarders episode not me taking her dogs for a walk. Also, the dogs were total DICKS!! One dog REFUSED to leave past the front gate. The other dog had crazy eyes like it would happily murder you and eat you if it was given the option. It was a massive dog and it chased fucking dogs and cats down the street with me just being dragged and sprinting to make sure I didn’t let go of the lead and cause a DISASTER.

Honestly, I took my sister with me on the lady’s request cos she said her dogs were big and difficult but I NEVER EXPECTED THAT EVER. It’s been like 5 years and I still talk to my sister about it like LOL remember how I started my dog sitting career?

I then had an army guy threaten violence against me and when I called the pet sitting website (to which you pay a 15% fee mind you!!!!) they said there was nothing they could do. This was after I was locked out of his house which was completely his fault and he asked me simultaneously lift up his garage door which isn’t meant to be lifted obviously and crawl under it at the same time. I was shaking with anxiety and felt like I was gonna die. I ended up having to leave his house because I felt so unsafe cos he was like you don’t wanna know what I’ll do to you if anything happens from this or SOME SHIT. Mum was ready to fly to Brisbane and fuck this dude up for how mean and rude and violent and abusive he was OMG.

Needless to say, I took a fucking vacation from pet sitting after that event.

Also, this was all on one website. I had another website but it never really took off. I actually got banned from the first website after army dude WHICH I’M STILL REALLY MAD ABOUT BECAUSE I CALLED THEM FEARING MY LIFE AND THEY SAID THERE WAS NOTHING THEY COULD DO AND THEN BLOCKED ME.

Anyway, these are just all the dramatic things to make this blog dramatic. But the smaller, less known website was providing me with the goods throughout all of this too.

I walked a dog for a lady for months!!!! because she leg was broken. I loved that family. It was all a bit strange though because she had a teenage son who’d come out at 5:30pm to hand me over the dog in his pyjamas??? I was like dude can’t you walk the dog? but okay whatever I love her! She was my one true bae! I still think so much about her because I just love her and her family. This lady also provided me with the “this girl must know some shit because she has regulars” appeal.

I then pet sat for a lady who asked me if I knew anyone who could get her weed. No sorry, but I’ll look after your animals? She lived in a legit hotel on the Brisbane river paid for by the government and she always told me Malcolm could come and stay because I always looked after her animals on the weekends. BLESS HER. She was so cute and feminist and we’d cross the river on the free ferry and go on dates and pretend we had a hotel to go back to. Well, it wasn’t pretending?? But that lady paid me SO good? Even though I told her my rates she’s like lOL I’ll pay you this much, also there’s like $50 in change so get yourself dinner and wine. I LOVE HER. I did this often so another regular.

I also had a family and they left.their.dogs.out.for.NYE.fireworks ):):)):):):):):)):): and the dogs escaped :):)):):):):):) and I had to rush over there and find them and the whole neighbourhood were so angry at me because they thought they were my dogs or something? AND THEN THE DOG BIT ME BECAUSE IT WAS SO SCARED AND I HAD TO GET IT OUT FROM UNDER A CAR AND RISK MY HAND OMG and the client was asked to pay me for an extra visit because I dropped my life and tended to this emergency situation and got my hand bit. But she never paid me :):))::)):

Anyway, I accidentally started a business in the process of getting abused and bitten by angry dogs. I have regulars, I have “”””elite”””” people whose animals I look after, I have top rating WHATEVER WHATEVER

I don’t care.

I also increased my prices and at the same time the website really took off.

I just love their animals and I still love hanging out with friendly puppers. It gives me the greatest joy.

Anyway, it seems that in amongst the fun of talking to animals like they are humans in my spare time this little thing has taken off! The other day my phone buzzed constantly with requests.

But I am crippled. With anxiety.

What used to be my biggest fun affair hobby has turned in to ADMIN.

I am not an admin girl. I can’t do admin. I can’t respond to messages in a timely manner hahaah have you noticed? i’m probably ignoring someone right now to write this blog.

Tonight I really thought about why I leave pet sitting requests for days unopened. It’s a bit fucking strange and it’s definitely not business savvy. BUT I NEVER INTENDED TO BECOME A BUSINESS. Poor little me LMFAO. I never ever wanted to become more business than hobby but I actually think it’s turned in to that.

Let me explain.

People make requests. And then some people inevitably ask me to reduce the price for my services. I already really have low self-esteem and self-doubt when it comes to this shit because I know I’d happily play with dogs for free. I FEEL GUILTY. I FEEL REALLY FUCKING GUILTY AND I FEEL LIKE AN INTRUDER. Who is this girl patting dogs and getting paid for it?

But on the other hand…

I’m like an a+ top rated “business” now. I have references, I have a million reviews, I have a fb page dedicated to my adventures, I have it all. But it cripples me!

I always go and meet the family first and this is where I just get fucking crushed omg. I listen to their story because I’m a chatty person and then I start thinking fuck these people love their dog but they are poor and I can’t charge them what I usually would because they are poor? They are so kind by rescuing a dog and they never go away cos they are poor but they are tryna do a good thing and get their dog looked after while they are away and I’m charging real life cash dollars OMG. And this is all before they’ve even mentioned that they can’t afford me.


And here’s where it gets murky because now I’m being chosen for my services based on the fact that I have top reviews, I’m reliable and friendly etcetc BUT I wanna act like I’m a 12 year old who has all the time in the world to be doing this shit when in reality I gotta feed my own fur-child, I’m chronically ill, I have an actual job etc. HECK I’M IN TOO DEEP.

I’m at a cross roads pals OMG. I don’t even have a solution. I’m a bleeding heart leftie. I just love animals and I think they should always have the best care and life despite the income of the people who own them. It’s just so obvious that that is the core thing in life but the reality is different because I don’t wanna be staying at another persons house looking after their dogs like they are my own when I legit got a fur-kid myself at home without me. LOL JKS she loves Malcolm more than me anyway HAHAHA.

I’m very aware this blog is a lot of rambling about silly things. In the end none of it matters because I get to hang out with fluffy creatures (on the odd chance I overcome my anxiety and open the damn emails to begin with).

I probably have Imposter Syndrome πŸ™‚

Suggest real talk shit below. I have even more anxiety cos it’s nearly holiday season and I get a lot of requests then OMG HELP. I was thinking maybe I could just be like sorry I am booked out/out of your price range but I’m sure there are other capable people who could help you for less, just keep searching luv cos I’m gold standard now baby (hilarious dumb attempt at being confident when I’m clearly not at all).

PS: I just love dogs.






Filthy rich and homeless

Straight up: have you ever considered how many steps you are away from homelessness?

I’ve a changed human, pals. Honestly. I feel like this is going to be a very long blog since I just had some deep shower thoughts and since I’ve just finished both seasons of Filthy Rich and Homeless.

One of the main themes on FRH is asking the viewer to consider just how close they are to homelessness. Have you ever thought about it? Because I have not! Ever!

But in the shower just then I was thinking about it and I was like FUCK. NO WAY.

Firstly, I have learnt something from FRH and it is that homelessness is defined as having no permanent address type of thing – it’s not about sleeping on the streets which is immediately what I think of when I think of homelessness. And I guess that really comes from a place of privilege. I’ve never not had a home. Okay that’s a lie. Once I didn’t have a permanent address.

And here’s the thing!!!! I only just realised that in the shower!!! At one stage I didn’t have a home. And did you know how easy it was to fall in to that state of “homelessness” if you wanna call it that? ABOUT A TWENTY SECOND CONVERSATION. That’s all it took to leave me without a house.

I was living with this dude for ages and then he told me he wouldn’t be renewing the lease with me because he was moving in this his gf. I was like okay cool, but sad. We had a really good housemateship and it was comfortable living with him. I tried to advertise for a new housemate but it honestly took me MONTHS to find my current housemate to begin with so I really had extreme anxiety thinking about it. I don’t think anyone ever replied to my ad. There were several factors has to why the house was not ideal. The bedroom was small AF, it was $150 a week for that small af room, it was in a great location but that was about it, it had no fan or ac. But it had been my home for two years and I loved it ahah

Anyway, I was faced with the ever-looming reality that no one was going to move in, I couldn’t afford the rent on my own, I’d need to find a new house. But the timing was really shit and I had to make that decision. Find a new housemate or find a new home. All whilst studying full time and working 20 hours a week :):):):):):)

I had serious anxiety in general at this stage of my life. I really couldn’t make rational choices or exist. I was EXTREMELY picky when it came to finding a house to live in. I would only consider living with one other person, it needed to be in the immediate area BECAUSE MY FUCKING BOYFRIEND AT THE TIME TOLD ME IF I MOVED TO THE SOUTH SIDE WE’D BREAK UP ESSENTIALLY. I was so in love with this dude that I couldn’t even fathom that happening. So here I am, HAVING TO LIVE BASICALLY 5 MINUTES FROM MY CURRENT PLACE TO KEEP THE ONLY STABLE RELATIONSHIP THING GOING.

I was just so lucky that at that exact time my friend who legit lived a few km’s from my house was going to India for a month or two? Can’t remember. She had lined up someone to move in to her roomΒ  that she was sub-letting but she knew what I was going through and cancelled on that girl to let me move in temporarily.

It was only $100 a week and I remember it was a busy period at work so I was working extra hours for cash. I was saving a lot of money compared to my usual situation but it was FUCKED. I was living in someone else’s bedroom, using someone else’s cooking items and EVERYTHING. Nothing was mine. I felt like I had lost my identity as a depressed and anxious person. Seriously I spent and continue to spend my entire life in bed. I didn’t even have my own bed???? I was also really scared 24/7 because anxiety and also this place had no screens on the windows because it was old AF, on a main road and just made me feel really un-easy.

I was mostly just REALLY FUCKING LUCKY to have a place to live though. But then my friend was coming home from India and it was still sooooo hard to find a place to move to because nothing had changed. I still had ol m8 in my head telling me that if I moved “away” we wouldn’t work. And as an anxious person do you even know what that feels like piled on top of your urgency to just find a god damn fucking place to rent that is within your budget and within your expectations etcetc???

Anyway, the situation got really dire and my boyfriend said that if he was really desperate I could come stay with him while I found a home. It was just SOOOOO stressful because it wasn’t even like I could be like to my friend coming home like hiii can you just stay away for a bit longer until I find somewhere. I was living in her BED and her PLACE.




At the very last moment I found a place. I knew deep down that it was not ideal at all but it was so close to where I’d been living for years, it was affordable and most of all!!! It solved my problems.

I had really bad anxiety. Have I mentioned that? I really couldn’t cope with being a human and I couldn’t cope with these people AT ALL. I remember staying awake all night just fucking LIVID at them. To get to my bedroom you had to walk through the laundry. My bedroom door was opposite the washing machine and shit. These people would do their laundry at midnight!!! I could hear the constant tumble non stop all night OMFG. Add to this that I was really poor throughout this whole fucking experience because I was paying $300 a month off my braces whilst living on youth allowance and the income from my job!!!! So I just had extreme anxiety because they’d use the dryer 24/7 as well as two air cons on permanently. My anxiety quickly grew to hate these people because I was soooooo anxious about how much the power bill would be and how I would not be able to afford it/anxiety making up scenarios of how I’d have to SOMEHOW pull money out of my ass to fund the bills because I already had a job and couldn’t take on another one whilst studying too!!

I basically got kicked out of their place. IT HAD TO HAPPEN. I was almost relieved when we agreed we couldn’t live together because my mental health was fucked from everything. Is that homelessness? They were good and said obviously I could stay until I found a new place. CUE: many, many weeks of knowing I’m not welcome in a house (I wasn’t even on the lease) and having to find another place CLOSE TO THIS PLACE COS OF THAT BOYFRIEND!!!! while studying and working and dying from mental health issues.

The only thing that broke this cycle was that I randomly got a call from a top law firm and they offered me a temp full time job where I made a fuck tonne of money. This meant that I could increase my renting budget. The universe truly shined down on me and found me these amazing housemates (Hi avril, I fucking love you). Everything changed from then on.

For the first time since moving out of home I had amazing housemates. They were a married couple and Avril took me on as her adopted kiddo. She would text me if I was out at night when I usually wouldn’t be etc and she made me feel loved and safe and truly welcomed!! I was like wow is this what living with people should actually be like? Honestly, I’ll never be more grateful for her. It really changed everything for me.

Then I got sick though. I didn’t have a full time job. I wasn’t even capable of working. I was living off youth allowance. My mum had given me $3000 that I’d already used trying to survive. You see, when I got sick I was living my best life. I was paying $200 to live in this small af apartment with my friend. I could afford it and live a luxurious life. When I got sick I could no longer afford it and especially not on youth allowance.

I come from a single mum low income family. There’s absolutely no way she would have been able to bail me out like she did except some shit happened and she could that time. So I’ve always had the anxiety of knowing it’s do or die basically. I know that if I was going to die then all my family would come together and find a way to bail me out but it’s just readily available, you know what I mean?

The only saving grace was that when I got sick my lease was about to be up so we moved in to a house where it was $130 a week rent which was doable. I definitely dropped my standard of living though. The place was ages away from where we lived before, I didn’t have an ensuite anymore etc. Anyway, that’s material shit I didn’t care about when I legit had no money.

With paying much less rent and only being on youth allowance, and my braces being fully paid off I could JUST SURVIVE. Everything was rationed. I broke my phone and I obviously had no savings and no means of getting another one. I remember living without a phone for MONTHS. Malcolm and I shared a phone AKA I borrowed his when I saw him because I was too poor to afford. I also had to cancel my phone plan before I broke my phone because I couldn’t afford $80 a month anymore. They said I’d have to pay $500 to cancel it and I accepted because realistically I knew that it would be a debt I could sort out in the very distant future. I literally had to decide between a debt in the future or a debt now.

I also had an overdraw on my card of $500. I got this when I was rich and a bit silly. Well, nah… the guy explained that any overdraws count towards your credit rating so if you have an overdraft you can go over without consequence. So when I was sick I was constantly $500 overdrawn because I could never make it up. This meant that I was paying $20 a month I think in credit fees. There was nothing I could do though.

Bindi then ate chocolate and had to spend a night in emergency. It was $700. It was the first time I’d ever had to rely on Malcolm. He insisted on paying. I couldn’t say no because I didn’t have the money! I had no idea where I’d get the money from to pay for her vet fees. I just knew she had to be saved so there was no way out. I will forever be grateful for him paying that vet bill OMFG otherwise I probably would have had to put a bigger overdraft on my account and get in to more debt.

At this point too, Malcolm started to catch on to all my debt. It gave him really bad anxiety and he wanted to pay it all out just to get me started again. He said I could pay him back if I wanted but he didn’t give a fuck. I obviously said no and continued to live in poverty :):):):):) because I’m dumb and also TRAUMA so yeh :):):):)

The angel that saved me in this dire time was at Australian Tax Office. Thanks bae xoxo

That previous financial year I’d been working full time and I remember doing my tax on the 1st of July LOL #justpovertythings and somehow getting 3k back. WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK? I think I cried because I knew this would solve all my money issues. I paid my optus bill, I paid my overdraft and cancelled it, I bought a really shitty $400 phone and then tried to keep the rest for the next fucking emergency that was destined to take over my life :):):)

My general poverty and FUCK WHERE IS MY NEXT HOUSE AND LEASE GONNA BE??? kind of resolved itself when I moved to Toowoomba. Rent here is cheap, I have a whole entire duplex to call my own, Bindi has only ate chocolate once and it only cost $150 to fix :):):):)) but the biggest thing to change for me was that I forced myself to get a job despite the fatigue I was still experiencing. Since moving to Toowoomba I’ve been able to afford a $4k car thanks to Malcolm telling me not to pay rent until I got a car cos he was fed up with me using his 25/7 πŸ™‚ cheers bae xoxo

Malcolm has continuously bailed me out. I’ve never had to rely solely on him, thank fuck but he definitely contributes to my lack of anxiety about being alive and poor. I know pay everything myself and I’m doing decent. However, it’s always in the back of my mind that my prior fatigue could return with a vengeance and I’d be back bedridden with the last thing on my mind being getting rich or die trying.

That was a long-winded way of saying SHIT! I’ve been really close/at the stage of homelessness. That my living situation and financial situation has never been stable. That I’ve had major anxiety about simply making it week to week for most of my adult life. That I’m at the mercy of a chronic illness everyday that determines how much I can work/if I can even work at all.

I have Malcolm but in reality I’m one relationship breakdown from being fucked. HOMELESS.

How scary is that to think????

Sure, I could go live with my family but I have a dog who hates their dogs and would get eaten. I have my independence that I thrive on. I have my issues.

Anyway, another point to watching FRH is that I actually could not give a fuck about homeless people. Seriously? Do you? I used to almost cry everyday on my way to work when I first moved to Brisbane and had to witness so many people sleeping rough in the city centre. It broke my fucking heart. Sure, I’d buy The Big Issue every fortnight but that’s only because I justified those homeless people as “wanting to help themselves” and “working for their money.” By my fifth year in Brisbane I was so desensitised to seeing rough sleepers that if any of them asked me for money I’d feel like it was RUDE of them and an INCONVENIENCE to my day.

Imagine thinking people in genuine and real crisis are rude and inconveniencing your day? But you know what? I reckon you agree with me and you deep down think the same. I’m just the one who is gutsy enough to admit it.

And the best thing about moving to Toowoomba? The lack of rough sleepers. I never have to even face the reality that 116k Australians are homeless every night. It never even has to enter my mind anymore. I don’t even have to feel a tad guilty at not giving people my change.

I’ve technically been so close to being homeless and yet I actually don’t give a fuck about my fellow humans who are in those circumstances. Deep down on an emotional level when I think about them obviously I feel pain for their suffering but what I’m saying is that I’m just so conditioned to seeing that level of suffering everyday now that I don’t even blink an eye. Isn’t that fucked?

Another thing that is fucked is that these days no one carries cash so you legit don’t even feel guilty telling the homeless guy begging “soz I’ve got no cash” whether it’s true or not. You hope and think that the homeless guy is understanding towards you cos no one carries cash anymore. THE ACTUAL FUCK??????????

FRH is truly a life changing series to watch. It humanises the problem.

I don’t have a solution at all but what the people who did the challenge say is that approaching rough sleepers, having a chat with them, asking them what they need is an act of generosity that really can change someones day or even week.

I don’t carry cash ever. I don’t think that change for me where I carry cash everywhere I go in case I spot a rough sleeper who needs money. Let’s be real.

But I have to do something. We all have to. Whether that’s just looking a rough sleeper in the eye and acknowledging them, that they exist, that they are a part of our collective humanity and that they matter. WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING.

What have I committed to doing? I already donate to charity regularly. I don’t think that solves shit and I don’t feel good just because I try some money at other people to help because I can’t be fucked. But I really hope that I can do something maintainable. I really want to buy $5 gift cards when I’m at coles to keep in my purse. This is very doable for me. I can then use them if someone asks me for money or if I never ever see a rough sleeper for my entire life then I can donate them to charity who helps those in need or something. I need to do something, we all do.

Have you watched FRH? How has it changed you?

How close are you to homelessness?

Let me know in the comments.

Unsolicited advice


Someone just asked a question in a chronically ill vegan group basically being like “does it annoy you when vegans act like veganism will cure or prevent any and everything?”

And that triggered me!!!!!!


But then it got me even more ANGERY thinking about people in general handing out unsolicited advice.

I have many thoughts in regards to this so just listen up if you’re not chronically ill/disabled.

Firstly, being chronically ill is a full time job. I’ve said this before. I’ll never stop saying it. Before I got sick I always used to think WTF do disabled/chronically ill people do all day? Like don’t they get bored?

No we don’t get bored. EVER.

An average week for me is giving in to the one billion medical professionals handing out advice on an under-funded and under-researched illness called CFS. NO ONE KNOWS SHIT ABOUT IT. Yet doctors and EVERYONE speculates and you’re expected to listen and take their advice and be like thank you so much you’re gonna cure me!!!!!!! good on you!!!! while you live your life as a fucking minor research project for their curiosity.

Every second week I go to my doctor who is also a medical acupuncturist. Last week he told me that my blood pressure is dropping ever further. He said I needed a blood test to make sure it wasn’t iron or something. I then went and got a blood test that took an extended amount of time and difficulty to get because my veins are so small and now I’m all bruised up in my arm from them digging around searching thin air for a vein!

On the same day that I got my blood test I also had an exercise physiology appointment. This sweet gal has given me two exercise plans – one for when I’m REALLY tired and one for BETTER DAYS. Love, do you know I live in the REALLY tired state every.fucking.minute??? How am I meant to judge when I’m “really tired” or having a “Better day”??? Cos lemme tell you!!! There was one!!! study down on exercise and cfs. It showed that graded exercise helped cfs. That study has since had a massive new york times investigation conducted on it and it was found to be fully rigged for reasons I just can’t even be fucked to research. I have my lived experiences which tell me exercises obliterates me for days. So anyway, this lovely gal is telling me how exercise increases energy. And I was like okay but I mean… are you talking in the general population or people with cfs? And she responds saying ohhh I mean in general yeh exercise increases energy. She could not tell me that exercise in CFS patients increases energy. She’s treating me like I’m the general population when clearly I’m not and clearly it fucks us CFS humans up. WHATEVER!

Anyway, I HAVE to go to this gal because a rheumatologist who told me she’s “by no means an expert on CFS, I’m a rheumatologist which is a different field” hot-potatoed me to an exercise physiologist because she couldn’t help me herself. And I HAD to go to the rheumatologist because my doctor, who isn’t an expert in CFS, told me I needed to go to fulfill the requirements of being a “good sick person”. Basically, a good sick person who follows all the rules of seeing experts/tryna help themselves/following advice of people who have just as much as an idea as yourself etc

So now every second day I have to choose an exercise program. I have to wake up and be like shit…. fuck…. how do I feel? Really tired or just tired? Which exercise regime should I do today.

AND THEN! I have also had to see a dietitian in the past week who gave me a real plan she legit printed from a published book you can buy at dymocks (no hate but come on). So now I’m doing all this hectic good eating which takes a lot of energy because I have to make all this balanced food.

And then my blood test came back with something wrong so I had to see my close and convenient doctor nearby. She asked so many questions like what do you eat etc and I’m like :):):):):):) I’m on a dietitian implemented meal plan :):)):):):):):)) so she was wrecked because she couldn’t do the “oh just go see a dietician and eat more iron rich food” which was an amazing feeling like PLS BINCH I’M DOING EVERYTHING.

And then!!!! I have stupid fucking disability support people actually harassing me about coming in for a meeting regarding working even though my occupational therapist granted me a one year break from working. Obviously I need to work and I work A LOT so this all seems redundant and useless anyway.

Oh and while I was at the doctor she started asking me about my gynaecologist and how I’m going with him!

Point of this: as you can see I have a whole fucking village of medical professionals I constantly need to check in with/follow orders from/be a puppet too. I really don’t have time or energy for your pseudo-science advice.

And yet!!!

I posted on a vegan gals group asking for chronically ill gals to make themselves known so we can chat and some fucking binch messaged me telling me about this amazing pill that has 100 diff fruits and vegs in it and cures everything!!! Do you know how hard it is to just click out of that message and not reply with a major rant talking about how rude and inconsiderate one must be to send your multi level marketing shit to me?

Tonight someone asked me if I have tried juicing celery??? No?!?!?! because it tastes like shit?!?!!?

I see in a million support groups people asking have you tried eating raw/paleo/Mediterranean/vegan etc. It’s just never ending.

Honestly, believe me, I get that people just want to help. It’s hard for people to listen and not offer a solution.

But for the love of multi level marking and celery juice, PLEASE STOP BEFORE I LOSE MY SANITY.




Rheumatologist + Breaking Stereotypes

Hi Pals,

Sorry that I’ve been away. It’s like taking an extended nap and then forgetting to reply to all those text messages from before the nap. You feel me? You would feel me if you have chronic fatigue ahah such a fucking common thing I do.

Anyway, I went to a Rheumatoligist today. They are musculoskeletal and immune specialists. They basically tell you whether you have an auto-immune disease or not.

My doctor explained that it was just another administrative process to being a fully fledged chronically ill person with no diagnosis other than “ya fucking tired, you got chronic fatigue, go home and sleep.”

I was hella nervous because I REALLY felt like was my last chance at hope. I mean??? No one wants to be told they have an autoimmune disease but at least it’s SOMETHING. Do you know how frustrating it is being told you have a SYNDROME. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS A SYNDROME? A syndrome seems like some gene pool fuck up that leaves you with a bit of a fucked personality/body or something.

I was joking with my chronically ill friend that Rheumo’s have the best job. They wouldn’t have that job performance anxiety where they feel like they really wanna impress or cure a patient because you can’t cure any autoimmune things just manage them. It’s a pretty neat job. No one comes to you for a cure. You can’t fuck up really?? It’s not like you can make their life worse than it already is. Sorry sweaty you have an autoimmune disease, that’s $450 for the consult. BYE.

Basically, I knew seeing a rheumo was not going to help but I had hope. Isn’t that sad? I know I don’t have an autoimmune disease already. I have no inflammation blood markers, I have no symptoms. I’m just tired fam.

I had no idea how a rheumo appointment goes and in light of that I’d like to share how the consult went.

The rheumo was like hi codii, my name is -literally points to her name badge to which I can’t even remember her name cos I was tired lol just cfs things-. She asked me how I was going. WHAT DO I SAY???????????? Like right in this moment how am I? How is my life? How is my condition???? WHAT DOES THAT QUESTION MEAN! I did a nervous laugh while contemplating all that shit and then said good. Nothing is good sharon, I have an impending sense of doom lingering over me, I haven’t washed my hair in a week, my kitchen is so dirty that I have fruit flies making it their home.

Anyway, then she did the most dreaded thing ever and goes “SO TELL ME YOUR STORY.” I just wanted to walk out. Fuck you Sharon. Firstly, do you not read my blog? I’m kinda a big deal. Secondly, that’s a general question m8. I was born, some shit happened in the middle and now I’m here at 10am on a tuesday at the hospital tryna get my life together. I just ran through a really brief timeline of what happened. She goes “yes it does seem exactly like chronic fatigue. I’m not a chronic fatigue specialist though. I’m not being facetious (SHE SAID THAT WORD IN A GENERAL SENTENCE) when I say that I am not a specialist and I do not know if there are specialists. I’m being very serious. What I do specialise in is autoimmune diseases so let’s make sure you don’t have an underlying autoimmune disease causing you fatigue.

She’s so damn good at segues. I admire her segues. I admire how she keeps this appointment so on topic. She’s an actual hero.

She then asked if I had any skin conditions like rashes, any chest pain, any soreness, any joint pain, any stomach conditions, any headaches. She then says okay you don’t have an autoimmune illness. Lay down and I’ll examine you.

She checked my blood pressure, heart, chest, lungs etcetc. She then grabs this fucking hammer type thing and starts banging on all my reflexes/joints IDK to see how they react, I assume? I was shivering, I was convulsing, I was about to cry from how much pain I was in. She goes “what’s wrong?” in her cold af voice. I said that it hurts in the deepest way imaginable like the pain of being banged everywhere (lol) is hurting my soul. She doesn’t respond and keeps banging. She then goes “I’m going to check your joints because that’s what I get paid to do” and I think it was meant to be a joke or something but it was not funny and was just weird??? IDK. Was she laughing at her job? Who knows.

At one stage she held my arm at my elbow and my whole arm did this dramatic af hypermobile FLOP. She was like wow you’re hypermobile. That’s probably why you like yoga. Nah sharon, I like yoga cos it helps me exist, not cos i’m good at it, I can’t even touch my toes ffs.

She told me to sit back down. She said I need to go to an exercise physiologist in regards to my cfs so I don’t decondition. Lovey, I thought you told me you weren’t an expert in cfs? Why you talking about deconditioning from being so tired and not pushing yourself?

That was the part where I just got really pissed off. You’re either an expert or you’re not. If you aren’t, please don’t comment on exercise and pushing yourself. She kept using this DUMB AF analogy.

Here it is:

“As I said, if all I can do is walk, and I keep walking, I won’t be pushing myself because I can already walk”




Can you just stop?

She also said I should go to a dietician since I can’t eat heaps of foods because they make me sick. This was the only relevant and interesting thing I got out of the appointment. She said that if I’m not coeliac yet get so sick when I eat gluten than it’s the FODMAPS associated with gluten. I’ve researched it all day and I’M WOKE KIDS. YEPYEPYEP. I’m FODMAPS fucked. Not worth $450 to be told that though.

I’d like to highlight that I did not pay for this appointment. I went through the public system and was on a waiting list for 6-9 months. Somehow this annoys me more because I had hope that something would get fixed alllll this time and her conclusion is “you are discharged, you don’t have anything wrong, CFS, go see that dietician and physiologist.” Having said that, I’m also so grateful I didn’t have to pay because it all seemed so hopeless and frustrating and upsetting.

It’s sad and fucked when you’re genuinely upset that you don’t have an autoimmune disease and you’re just fucked without good explanation. I refuse to belief chronic fatigue syndrome is a thing. I just want a solid explanation!!!!!!!!!! But I do acknowledge that I do have CFS 200%. I just wish it was more researched and funded so that had answers to have cfs is.

Also, the rheumo asked me about my anti-depressants and how they are doing for me. I’m like absolutely amazing. I’d be dead without them. Well and truly dead.

She was this really proper south african with a rich white person accent. She was shook with my response. She’s like ohhhh okay (probs thinking mental illness isn’t real or something hahahahaha).

This brings me to my next point.

I wish there wasn’t this fucked stereotypes of what mentally ill/chronically ill people look and seem like.

I have this idea of a dishevelled, sad looking ill person.

I’m an upbeat, well-presented, well-spoken person who should be at the peak of their existence.

Always love the reactions I get when I say I was suicidal AS FUCK before anti-depressants. What, I don’t look like I’m mentally ill to you???

I can’t wait until we break the fucking mould of what chronically ill people look like. I can’t wait until I associate chronic illness with people who look like myself instead of lonely, socially isolated, bed-ridden people in pain.

Does anyone understand what I’m tryna say?

I’m not trying to sound rude or snobby or anything. I just feel like chronically ill people and mentally ill people are portrayed to be a certain way when in fact we’re the gal sitting next to you in the hospital with the sleek bun, fashion on point and sunny disposition.



The sleepy eggplant WITHOUT an autoimmune disease but who is hypermobile af πŸ˜‰

Weight Gainz

Trigger warning: disordered eating, weight chats, weight kilogram chat

I’m an expert on all things weight and food related. Exhibit A: I just ate a tub of ice cream and a packet of salt and vinegar chips for dinner. Totally an expert.

On a more serious note though, I’ve been struggling with my weight. And it’s taken me a very long time to pin-point why that is the case considering I’m all for body love (unless it’s my own and then it has to be stick thin). I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s about acceptance.

I’m so fucking resistant to change. Actually, I think it’s proven that humans are majorly shit at change. But I’m even more shit at change than the average human! I can’t do it. Here I am having dreams about my ex from two years ago as recently as last night!

I’ve always been exceptionally thin. I think. I’m not certain of anything weight or body image related any more because I have anxiety and I’ve also never been able to judge my own body in a way that truly reflects how it actually looks. I say this because I remember being 15 and looking at my ass in the cinema movie toilet mirror and thinking “fuck I have the biggest ass.” I remember just being obsessed with how big my ass was but seeing a pancake flat ass. But in my mind it was massive. Does that make sense? A bit like body dysmorphia but I don’t want to be dramatic and say that because it’s probably just normal or whatever.

I guess I also can’t accurately judge my body because it’s mine. It’s just me. I’ve lived in it for 24 years and I’ve never seen it as an outsider.

So when I spent the majority of my teenage years below 50kg I thought that was “normal” because it was my normal. Ya know? You only know what you only know.

I’m now at a blossoming 65kgs!!!!!!!!!! that’s 20 fucking kilograms more than I was when I had that major mental breakdown and suicidal depressive episode that lasted way too long when I was 22!!!!

I’m 24, I’m 65kgs and I’m absolutely in love with my life, my mindset (wow that prompted me to remember to take my anti d’s, thanks everyone) and everything to do with being alive!

However, I haven’t been in love with my weight gain. Why? Because shit has been changing. I feel my thighs rub together, no one goes “OMGZ HUN UR SO SKINNY OMG WHAT DID YOU DO TO GET LIKE THAT??” on the daily, no one is fascinated by how lean I am, no one makes comments about me blowing away in the wind, I had to go up to a size 12 from a size 6, my wardrobe doesn’t fit me, all my beloved clothes that I’ve worn for years have to leave me. CHANGE. I fucking hate it.

I had a major freak out at the start of this year about my weight. I started dieting as in… calorie counting. That’s the lowest I’ve ever been.

And you know what’s the most ridiculous part of all of this? The world is spinning around me continuously, life goes on and yet here I am in my pea sized brain freaking the fuck out over nothing. I’m alive, my chronic fatigue is improving, I feel stronger than ever.

I look cool, calm and collected but internally I’m screaming because all I want is maccas but it’s oily and unnecessary and truly committed people would not sabotage themselves with trash that will make their weight explode out even more!!!

This past week I’ve felt a shift. Actually, it’s been slowing rising up in me. I’m sick of fighting an invisible troll everyday.

The first step was to buy my favourite pants in the next size up. DONE. Guess what happened? Nothing!!! Absolutely nothing!!! Except I felt less locked in to my pants and my hip flabby things felt so much more comfortable and not squeezed in. The world didn’t end because I had to go up a size. Ahhhhhh a sigh of relief. Maybe I CAN do this after all.

This week I decided to fuck off my whole wardrobe. Everything that is size “extra small.” I’ve never been an extra small person. It really did not align with my personality, my values or my desire to live a good life. I have soooo much knowledge, so much passion, so much creativity, so much desire, so much of everything. Imagine if we labelled our internal organs and shit with sizes? Mine wouldn’t be “extra small”.

I didn’t even feel as sad as I thought getting rid of everything. It’s like getting rid of the negativity that plagues me everyday. I feel like it’s an act of acceptance that I’m starting over with comfortable clothes that allow my body to breathe instead of gasp.

I’ve always felt too big for my small body. My experiences, my memories, every one of those one million books I’ve read all fitting in to that tiny body? It’s time to expand it to reflect my lived experiences and joys! It’s actually a little bit exciting to upgrade!

I feel like I’m shedding the naivety, the immaturity. I’ve always want to be an average human adult in this world. I truly feel more adult now and I feel it’s reflecting in my body growing too!

While all of this has been happening I’ve also been re-evaluating the way I nourish my home. I’m trying to eat in more of a fresh, vibrant vegetables way. I aim to do everything in moderation now so that I never feel like calorie counting is a good idea. How can an act of survival be so painful and stressful?

Tonight while eating my tub of ice-cream I was like “oh I might look at the calories of this entire tub” but instead of dying at the results I was like yeh gurl you’ve got this, thanks for accepting your body, the world is going to become a much easier place to live in when you are getting along with your body and not mistreating it everyday.

In the wise words of a human pal I like to call my best binch “you’re body is going to do whatever the fuck it wants to so you might as well do what you want too.”

Amen to that.

Be nice to your body, nourish it with wholesome food including Over The Moo ice-cream, say nice things to yourself, cheer for yourself, caress your stretch marks and tell them everything is going to be okay.

Oh, and send me more gr8 ice-cream recommendations πŸ˜‰


Shroom and Lentil Bolognese

I haven’t done a recipe post in a while. Maybe that’s because I’ve been too uninspired to cook anything hearty or decent. But I did tonight and Malcolm can’t stop slurping it up and telling me how good the bolognese sauce is. It’s all home made baby!

Steps to making this dank meal that you can eat all week and never get sick of:



  1. Fry an onion, big thing of minced garlic and a tablespoon or so of oregano in a pan with oil until the onion is soft.
  2. Add a can of tomatoes and a cup of vegetable stock and bring to the boil
  3. Cut up as much shrooms as you want (I used like 250g) and put them in the pan along with 2 cans of drained and washed lentils. Cook for 15 mins until the water has evaporated and it’s more like a wholesome sauce mixture.
  4. While that shit is cooking, boil pasta in a saucepan with a lil bit of salt cos that’s what you’re meant to do and idk why.
  5. Once the pasta is cooked and the sauce has reduced done to a good consistency, add the pasta to the fry pan and mix it all through.
  6. Put it in a bowl and then cover it with a fuck tonne of cheese.
  7. Send me pics of your food and praise me for my wonderful cooking.

Thoughts on January

I did a minimalist challenge for myself all January and I thought that is what this post would be about but then when I was crafting it in my puny little brain it completely changed to just shit I did in Jan.

Here ya go:

I did a few things that were cool in January.


Firstly I started off the year in the most wholesome way possible! With my best pals, driving around at 8pm buying a sewing machine off a drunk lady (hi Emma) from a swap and sell page in order to learn how to sew and make underwear. We also played the “fire kitchen” game on ps4 and ate homemade cinnamon rolls which put me in a gluten coma.

Malcolm then got a stomach ulcer and we spent all of new years day in Emergency trying to sort him out. He ended up on a drip with a million different things in it.

I always have new years resolutions. And the truth is: I always follow them through. One year it was to start washing my face nightly. TICK. I still do it 5 years on. Last year it was to not buy any new clothes TICK I wanna write a blog about that. This year it is learn how to sew. I have found a lady who is going to teach me for only $20 a class!!!! I’m soooo excited.

I have a few more little things to do which include: yoga twice a week, meditation once a week, save and buy a fucking car codii you dickhead, keep on with recovering and try to get to a stage where I can moderately exercise and not spend the next week bedridden.

I started off this year calorie counting because I stepped on the scales for the first time in 6 months and was brutally fucking shocked. Calorie counting lasted a few days. I had a headache, felt weak af and sooo miserable. Then mum convinced me I was being a fuckwit (which I already knew) and I went back to eating as I do. DUMBEST IDEA 2018. Don’t ever do it. The fact that I now know how many fucking calories a spoon of olive oil has is ridiculous. Except now I pour it by the fucktonne with the joy of someone who DOES WHAT THEY WANT.

Update: I still haven’t tried a domino’s vegan cheese pizza yet. This may disturb some of you.

Oh also, my sister has been down for three weeks for xmas and new years and we had the most wholesome lunch w mum. My sister and I do not get along. We went to bali for two weeks together randomly and before we even got on the plane we were both messaging and calling mum to vent about what a cunt the other person is. BUT. This miracle shone down upon us and we didn’t fight once!!!! Is this adulthood? I even said to mum that I didn’t want her to leave because it was so enjoyable having her around. Tysha, if you’re reading this, get fucked, that last sentence is a lie.

Another highlight was that I randomly put up a post in a fb unconsuming group asking for friends HAHAAHAAH (the best way an introvert knows how to make friends). Probably about 100 people replied to my post telling me about themselves and about how they’ve also wanted to make friends but didn’t know how. It’s fucking unreal the amount of people in the same position as you when you reach out!!! I went to coffee with the drunk lady I bought that sewing machine off on new years eve HAHAHAAHAHAH she has been roasting me on fb about how I can’t sew and shit ever since I bought it and then responded to my friends post. I spent 2 WHOLE HOURS over coffee just chating non stop!!!!! I couldn’t believe it. I was a tiny bit nervous about the friend date. What if we had nothing to talk about or nothing in common? FUCK THAT NOISE. We had sooo much in common and we’re both hilarious legends (who got sunburnt sitting in the shade). I’m feeling sooo wholesome and meeting new people is the married af person’s version of dating, I feel.

Speaking of having things in common with strangers!!! I’m reading Desmond Tutu and the Dalai Lama’s book on joy or something. It was published in 2016 and it’s amazing so far! Two amazing minds coming together to speak on topics. AHHHHHH. Anyway, one thing I’m finding soooo interesting is that both agree that the way to cultivate joy and live a more wholesome life is to think about other people more often. Sounds so weird, I know. But then it started to make sense. They were saying that we feel most alone when we focus on ourselves and what we’re going through. If we think on a bigger level of how many people are going through exactly what we’re going through (or worse) we start to feel connected. The Dalai Lama was saying that when he was younger he’d go in to speeches or meetings or WHATEVER thinking about how he was a buddhist monk, male, age, ETC and he felt isolated like no one else was like him. But now he goes into everything thinking he is just one of 7 billion people and it makes him feel waaaayy more approachable and normal and like part of a community.

I cannot relate more to that! At the peak of my depression all I did was obsess over how I felt and how alone I was. No one could understand what I was going through and it was just me in this big black whole of shit and hate and terrifying thoughts. Then I started to read up on Buddhism for the first time and it’s all about focusing on the moment and the interconnectedness of humanity. I was soooooo anxious that I thought that when I had to go out somewhere I’d focus purely on my surroundings. A big part of this was observing other people on the train and walking on footpaths and stuff, since this was where I was a lot of my time. I noticed something, a lot actually. No one looked happy, no one was smiling, no one was particularly enjoying themselves. In fact, so many people looked stressed/concerned/worried/tired/lonely and I started to relate so hard to them. Mentally I would be like “fuck stranger I feel exactly how you feel, you’re not alone.” If I was mentally telling a stranger they weren’t alone because I felt the same way didn’t that mean that I wasn’t alone too? REVELATION TO THE MAX!!!

Once I started to feel empathy for my fellow human pals surrounding me I felt so much better. Not better in the sense of less depressed or sad. It was more a sigh of relief that I wasn’t actually the only one experiencing certain emotions and thoughts. I came to the conclusion that everyone is going through some fucked up shit and trying their best to act normal in the face of it. WOW!! That was me too!!1 See!! not alone! interconnected!!

Clearly this book is giving me A LOT to think about.

Another thing that has been giving me A LOT to think about is Oprah’s Soulful conversation podcast or whatever it’s called. Malcolm hates it because he says Oprah is a cunt but cannot articulate why he thinks that. One night I was sooo feelin myself and decided to listen to her podcast while I cooked dinner. It was about mindful eating or some bullshit. I almost turned it off because it was such hippy bullshit about how you should only eat for nourishment and to really look in to why you wanna eat what you wanna eat. Like are you feeling sad and masking emotions with food? Why do you wanna eat that chocolate cake. UTTER BULLSHIT. I’ll eat all the chocolate I want, thank you. I didn’t give up because I ain’t a quitter and I’m so glad. It all started to tie and make much more sense. I do actually agree with what the lady was saying. I think it’s always a good idea to try and understand your motivations behind things. She was saying how women have so much guilt around food and that really we should not because food is about nourishing our bodies. It was a self-love type of thing. I can’t really explain it but go and listen and tell me what you think.

Surprisingly, it was actually Oprah the OG herself that said something that just got me!!! You know when you hear something and it just clicks like WOW. Yes. WOW. That happened! They were talking about gratitude and about how it’s nice to practice it by writing down things in a journal you’re blessed for but like??? who has time, who actually does that? ME. I DO. Anyway, she said an even better way to practice gratitude is to just stop once or twice a day and ask yourself “what is going right?”

IT CAN’T BE THAT EASY?????????? Well, it can folks! I’ve actually started doing it and it’s sooooo much easier to come up with a massive list of shit you’re grateful for when you pose a question like that. Right now, what’s going right for me? I ate a wholesome dinner, I had a day off to relax, my body isn’t tight cos I just did yoga, my love is laying in bed on his laptop and I can see him from my position at the dining table, our whole house is closed up and it’s still the perfect temperature, we’re about to get a well deserved storm and the rain will make me sleep sooo good, it’s a blue moon and we won’t see it because of the storm but the internet exists!!, I’m looking at a bunch of flowers mum gave me for my birthday and then over the weekend she collected flowers from my garden to add to the bunch.

SEEEEE!!!!!!!!! what I mean!!!! If I asked myself 5 things I’m grateful for today I’d really be trying to think of grand moments that pop out. But I had absolutely no troubles furiously typing that list above as it all came rushing through my mind after asking what’s going right?

I also met Malcolm’s parents on the weekend and that went soooo good.

Lastly, I’ve been working so much. Probably to the detriment to my health. Well, that’s definitely the case but I just got paid and seeing that much money in my account to get that damn car I need is sooooo satisfying. My manager broke her arm and hasn’t been able to work so I’ve been capitalising on her pain and taking on all the hours I can at the moment while they are there. When she comes back I’ll have no hours again. I’m also back supervising exams for a fucktonne of money so that’s nice.

Mainly, this January has been so wholesome and I’ve LOVED it. The tiredness of being over-worked is a big bit of shit but besides that I’ve just had an amazing month.

Let me know how you’re doing my friends, tell me your resolutions!!, show me pictures of you engaged in wholesome activities. I wanna share in all your wholesome glory x

Mexi Rice


I posted my left-overs on my Binches Group Chat and got asked for the recipe. And then I remembered that I always get asked for recipes and I’m always too tired to share them. BUT I’ve slept literally all fucking day (yay cfs crash) and I had a coffee at 6pm so let’s fucking do this!

I made this recipe up because I only like meals that take 5 mins total prep and cooking time to make.

  1. Make a cup of rice or quinoa in a rice cooker. Did you know you can cook quinoa in a rice cooker?? No one ever told me but it revolutionised my life. Then go do a cool activity for a bit and forget you are cooking food.
  2. Come back once the grains are cooked and chuck some shrooms and oil in a saucepan or fry pan whatever
  3. Wait until they’ve wilted to nothing because mushrooms are lying little cunts and you put sooo much in a pot and then it dies down to nothimg
  4. Salt bae in some spices and shit. I used cumin, curry, paprika, chilli.
  5. Mix it around and then add a tin or two of black beans/kidney beans/a mix of the two.
  6. Mix it all around and then add an appropriate amount of canned tomatoes. You don’t want it to be real wet, just a good amount of wet. Ay ay.
  8. I then added in a grated carrot to be healthy and shit. If I were super healthy I’d probably put in fresh tomato and spinach and stuff but cbf.
  9. Put with a fuck tonne of biocheese and more chipotle.
  10. Send me a thank-you message and a pic of the meal πŸ™‚
  11. High five yourself for eating a delicious meal that you cooked all on your own that didn’t harm a cute and innocent lil animal! Yay you’re doing the good! Keep doing the good!


When everyday is the weekend

Last week I caused a ruckus amongst humans who had to interact with me because I forgot it was Friday and I’d been thinking it was Thursday all day. BUT CODII OMG HOW COULD YOU FORGET?…

oh. wait.

Yeh, I have memory loss LOL chronic fatigue LOL

and secondly

I am chronically ill so I’m sorry Sharon but I’ve got more on my plate than remembering what day is what like… the never-ending whirlpool of pain, fatigue and broken dreams HAHAHAHAH I am so dramatic omg I don’t even hate my life (but you’d understand if I did).

So here’s a thought that I’d like to share with you after last week’s almost-forgotten fri-yay feels. Fuck I hate that word. Fri-yay. Get fucked.

Anyway, here it is: chronically ill people are entitled to weekends and weekend excitement. Would you not believe it???? We’re humans. Weekends mean something to us too! And usually that ‘something’ is about our loved ones having free to spend with us or the general public looking a little less cranky when you do happen to step out of your house once a year.

I know this seems like a common understanding and I shouldn’t have to say it but OH MY GOD. I seriously feel like sometimes people, myself included, think that everyday is the weekend for us chronically ill folk. Just because we don’t work normal hours/don’t work/spend our full-time lives trying to recover or merely cope/exist.

I feel myself being judgemental too. I don’t like to allow myself the “thank fuck it’s Friday” snap chat or the “friday couldn’t come sooner” posts. In fact, you would never have ever heard me mention The Weekend because it’s a sacred time for people in the capitalist frame of mind, hustle and grind baby!

You know what??? FUCK THAT NOISE.

I am excited about the weekend.

It’s Friday evening. Malcolm has fucked off for a “boy’s weekend”. I couldn’t be more happier.

I even question this line of thinking and feeling. If I spend every day at home alone while Malcolm is at work, why then am I so excited to be “alone” on the weekend? Don’t I spend every day alone? Yes I do but honestly, it’s at a point now where my full-time job is recovery. Sleeping isn’t some luxury zzz’s it’s life and death. I don’t want to live my life stuck feeling this shitty. I want to recover. Maybe that’s just a faraway hope that will never appear but I’m going to try with everything in me to get to a point where I can be an almost-normie. So while you are all 9-5’ing, so am I. Except I’m doing what I have to do to be productive. Which is sleep, gently stretch but not too much otherwise I’ll crash, eating healthy as fuck, trying to avoid stimulants, trying not to have an ounce of anxiety in my body because that sets you back, shoving kale up my ass ETCETC whatever sick people do to be cured, like all those inspirational instagram posts and multi-level marketing scam mums suggest HAHAHA!

It’s the weekend for me too. I get to enjoy that thought. I get to establish sacred weekend rituals like the rest of the working human population.

One time before I was sick this lady was going home early and had the next day off. I was just making small talk and I said ‘omg you’re soooo lucky you get to go home early and then not work tomorrow’. She was like “yeh I’m picking my kids up from school and because it’s school holidays I don’t have a carer for them tomorrow so I have to take the day off.” I FELT SO BAD. I couldn’t believe I’d said she was having the day off like she was off to do 5am yoga and beach runs. I sounded so cunty.

And now that’s how I feel when people are like omg you’re so lucky!!! you don’t have to work everyday!! omg you just like do what you want? like sleep in!!! oh by the way, could you maybe help me with this… since you don’t work everyday like I do!


It’s taken me well over a year to not feel guilty even thinking I’m entitled to a weekend, a break, a trip away. I felt so guilty that I wasn’t ‘productive’ everyday and that I wasn’t then climbing mountains on the weekend.

I’ve had to establish new definitions for productive and rest. I’ll enjoy Malcolm being away because I DESERVE me-time. I deserve time where it’s just me and my thoughts and no thoughts of 4pm arriving and me having to pick him up from work or him hugging me and my skin burning and aching just from his touch and then feeling super cunty and worst gf’y because of my chronic pain and illness.

So yeh… maybe just think before you say shit because I’d take “can’t wait for friday to come any sooner” and so would you if you happened to spend a day in the frustrating world of being a chronically sick person where society values over-working and burning yourself out until you have a mental breakdown.

BE KIND. HAVE A GREAT WEEKEND PALS. I hope your weekend is filled with ‘good days’ and really refreshing naps and only minor frustrations!


Codii + Bindi






I’m giving the people what they want tonight. Okay… no one has said they want a year long story about my vagina at all but I’m gonna give it to you all. I know you’re secretly fucking creeps, let’s be real!

In the first half of last year I had a vagina problem. If you have a vagina you’ll feel me. YOU JUST KNOW SOMETHING IS TURNING NOT RIGHT. You feel it in your bones. The slightest change in vagina flora and you are SHOOK AF. This happened to me but I am always like nah I have anxiety, it’s just a bad day for my vag – it’ll be fine. Fine is was not.

Sooooo I did what every poor person does and was like yeh it’s thrush (after a quick google and not fulfilling half the symptoms but being hopeful). I got that thrush $20 expensive as shit tablet. It didn’t work. I got the 10 day cream instead because apparently that’s what you do when the tablet doesn’t work. It didn’t work either. I then went to the doctor near my house because they bulk billed. I got this old as hell asian granddad who actually dribbled so intensely that the spit was from his mouth to the carpet!! He spat when he talked too and one landed on my knee. I was well and truly done before it even started. But I was like um I have a UTI probs but idk. And he goes “why do you think you have a UTI?” Well that struck me cos it was just another stab in the dark of mine after the thrush stab in the dark that failed. He said that it sounded exactly like thrush but because I’d done my own treatment that failed he’d test for everything. I was like NO NONO frantically just picturing this old af dude up in my vag swabbing it. But he wouldn’t let me go without a swab.

Thank god, and unbeknown to me, a female nurse was on swab duties. I dodged a bullet. I sighed the hugest sigh of relief ever. I was soooo salty that he didn’t give me any relief though like an antibiotic or something to fix this shit. The nurse even said it didn’t look anything like thrush and he should have trusted me when I said it was a UTI and given me meds. HA TAKE THAT DUMB DOCTOR!

I go home itching the whole way and came to terms with the fact that I was stuck with this raw as hell vag for a few more days until results came in. I even put the call out to facebook to help and someone said a tampon dipped in yoghurt. I did it. It brought sheer relief. THE COLD COLD RELIEF OF A BURNING RAW VAG. It didn’t work though. Neither did coconut oil on a tampon up the hole either. I tried that one from google.

I go back to get my results and it’s Urea Plasma. What.in.the.actual.fuck.is.that.

I got some very-common-STI-antibiotic and that was it. SEE-YA. It turned out that by the time my vagina was cured, I hadn’t had sex in 6 weeks or something. Sex was not even on my mind though because all I could think about was my vagina 24/7.

On the walk home from the doctors I googled Urea Plasma and I found this super amazing blog that just summed up my situation. I just re-read it now and it’s still speaking so many truths. I’m just so grateful my doctor tested for it the first time. I cannot imagine dealing with that shit for six months!


Fast forward to about 2 months ago. The same visitor comes back. It starts with the burnies when I pee. I just start having Eleven from Stranger Things Flashbacks at 5:30am on the toilet. NOOO WAYYYY can this happen again. I think I’m just being dramatic and block the burning out of my mind for many days until it gets terrible and I cannot be in public because of my need to scratch. I book the first doctor I can find available that day (which turns out to be a giant mistake).

The first thing doctors want to tell you is that you have an STI. Because you are young and are sexually active despite being a condom user. THEY JUST DON’T EVER TAKE YOU SERIOUSLY. So after going through my sexual fucking history of being with the same person forever and condoms and my former Urea Plasma AND EVERYTHING, she finally asks me how comfortable I am with a swab. I’m like m8 I’ll spread my legs like it’s my profession because I just want this done. I’m also a nudist and I have no body shame whatsoever so yeh that’s a good thing about me I suppose. After getting up in my vag she says that it’s bleeding when she gets near the cervix which could indicate gonorrhoea or some other STI bullshit. I roll my eyes and demand she still test me for mycoplasma and every other vagina related test ever.Β  This was on a friday so we go through the whole “shit ay you are gonna be in this much discomfort all weekend and half a week until the results come back.” She also tells me I should just go to the chemist and get the yeastie tab. I do this without hesitation. It does not work FUCK.

I called the doctors surgery every morning and afternoon asking if my results were in. I’m living and breathing this vagina discomfort. I’m scratching my crotch non stop in the presence of my family. I have given up.

On one day I was actually in Brisbane for appointments and I distinctly remember calling the surgery from a car park and asking about the results to which the receptionist is like “oh codii… yeh bad news – the results came back and it says the doctor didn’t put the swab in the right gel so the test can’t be examined.”

TIME TO LAY UNDER A CAR WHEEL AND LET THE GOOD DEATH HAPPEN. She tells me I need to book in another appointment for another swab. It’s now another Friday! I’m going to have to wait the weekend and half the week again for the results. To sprinkle more bullshit to this drama, when I try to book another appointment I’m told that all doctors are booked out and I’ll need to wait until next week. It went so far as me speaking to the fucking practice manager and doing the disgruntled “you’ve fucked up and I’m still suffering and you’re major cunts, give me an appointment right this minute” before I got that damn fucking appointment. The doctor apologised and told me the swab got lost in transit and she’s very sorry. WTF. Didn’t even call her out on her bullshit lie because I need HELP. INSTANTLY.

The test comes back saying Candida Tropicalis. Sounds like a cocktail that definitely includes mango and pineapple, right?? The receptionist lady who told me the results was like yeh it’s just thrush go get some cream or whatever.

We’ve been through this already love. It ain’t workin’.

I take the actual results to my normal doctor who is an asian dad who I most certainly don’t want anywhere near my vagina because I see him weekly and he says I need boric acid tablets. WTF. I tell Malcolm and he’s like “isn’t that the stuff from Bunnings that kills ants?” Apparently it always kills vag fungal infections. The doctor tells me there’s only one chemist that sells it. Okay?? This is all just getting a bit much.

I go and get the script filled. The lady is like okay that’s just $50. I almost died. 50 FUCKING DOLLARYDOOS FOR ANT KILLER THAT I HAVE TO PUT UP MY VAGINA????????????? I’m still super salty. I couldn’t complain though because I needed that shit desperately. It was my only hope. The chemist also asks why I only have a script for 10 tablets because everyone else always has a 14 day script. Fucking great, another doctor has fucked up.

I go home and put that fucking tablet up my bomb ass pu$$y every night. The relief hits a few days in and I cannot ever imagine the fire vag I had before. Everything is well. I do think about the treatment only being for 10 days instead of 14 but people on instagram always talk about the power of positivity so I let that shit go. The doctor knows best, right? Jesus take the wheel. Let my vag heal.

Everything is chill for a month until I go for that regular 5:30am piss and it burns. Nah, I’m just being dramatic again, this isn’t anything. Don’t sweat it, sweaty. It’s another friday by the time I admit defeat. I go to the first doctor I can find and explain my vag history. She just gives me the $50 acid pussy tablets and see’s me on my way. She should have said may the force be with you to help me heal. RUDE. I need some sort of divine force to help at this stage. I don’t go straight to the chemist after the doctor because it’s across the other side of town and I’m sooooo cfs tired that I was concerned for my safety in driving myself that long distance. I sleep all afternoon and the chemist shuts. Doesn’t matter, there’s always tomorrow :):):):) I go “tomorrow” and it’s closed because it’s after 12pm on Saturday. Sunday they aren’t open according to google and Monday is a public holiday. I FUCKED THE FUCK UP. I have no one to blame but myself.

I do the next best thing and go have a casual chat with the chemist. I end up picking a thrush cream in a purple box because I like the colour purple so that’s a good sign. I’m not even kidding. The chemist got so invested in my vag I truly feel like I need to go and update him once my vagina is healed.


Tuesday comes. The day of HOPE. But Malcolm fucking reks himself and we spend all day in the emergency department. Bae before vagina. Number 1 girlfriend.

On the bless’d Wednesday I fork out $50 for the acid tablets again. I’m still on them. The doctor made sure she gave me 14 days in case that was the issue before and the fungal shit wasn’t entirely killed off after 10 days.

No one cares that I now have a chronic yeastie problem. I am alone in my suffering. My friends boyfriend is the most caring person so far to be honest. He’s like wow you now have a chronic yeast infection, you should follow this up with the doc.




I don’t know the point of this blog. I actually genuinely want people to be aware of Mycoplasma’s though because they are so fucked and so many doctors don’t know anything about them!

I guess I also want sympathy. I also want you to laugh at my newly termed “bomb acid pussy.”

Codii – part time legend, full time ant killer vag.

I want this hashtag trending – #p4cv (pray for codii’s va ju ju).

My va ju ju has a vagenda and I’m still trying to figure out what the cunt wants. Send your best troops.